Falling Apart
by Naninator
Summary: Rosie was crying and Molly Hooper didn't know what to do. Heavy spoilers for the new episode The Six Thatchers. Read at your own risk! Sherlolly if you squint :P


_Hello! It's been a while. This is my little tribute to the_ _new Sherlock episode: The Six Thatchers_ _. If you have not seen it I suggest you don't continue any further as this story is very_ _spoiler heavy_ _. While somewhat disjointed and leaving a lot of unanswered questions, I really enjoyed the new episode and hope that next two episodes are just as amazing._

 _Please enjoy this little story and I apologise in advance if this upsets anyone - the episode itself was very upsetting and had me writing this._

 _ **Warnings:** mentions of character death._

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ _I do not own the show or the characters, I'm just using them for my own entertainment. All mistakes are mine!_

 **Falling Apart**

Rosie wouldn't stop crying and Molly Hooper didn't know what to do. When the baby had startled awake from her afternoon nap a little over an hour ago Molly had done everything to soothe her; changed her nappy, fed her, held her, sung to her – but Rosie was inconsolable, her little face bright red, her dark blue eyes swimming with tears, and Molly felt her own eyes tear up in response.

"Oh, I can't do this," Molly breathed as she paced the length of John and Mary Watson's living room, Rosie propped against her shoulder, Molly's hand rubbing soothing circles against the baby's back as she cried. Molly glanced at her mobile as she passed the coffee table, hoping that John or Mary had texted that they were on their way home, but as she swiped the screen there was nothing and Rosie's cries were only getting more and more heartbreaking to bear.

Molly lifted the little girl from her shoulder and held her in her arms, pressing the back of her hand against Rosie's forehead. "You're not feverish," Molly murmured softly, tucking Rosie into her side as she rocked back and forth. "You're not hungry, your nappy's been changed…Oh, Rosie sweetheart, what's wrong?"

Rosie only continued to cry, her voice growing hoarse from the effort. Molly could hardly bear it and, while lamenting over her poor efforts as a Godmother, she picked up her phone to ring Mary. She had just found Mary's name in her contacts when the front door clicked open and Molly swung around, a bright, relieved smile on her face when John Watson stepped through the door.

"Oh John, I'm glad you're back," Molly said gratefully as John moved forward and took Rosie from Molly, not noticing the way John's expression crumpled as soon as the baby was in his arms. "She's been crying for the last hour; not hungry, no fever, her nappy's been changed and she's not tired. I didn't know what to do." She finished sheepishly, rubbing her arms nervously as John didn't reply. He just continued to hold his daughter, his face buried in her short blonde hair as he cradled her against his chest. Molly bit her lip, confused.

"John? Are you – " she broke off when she felt movement behind her and whirled around, a startled laugh escaping her when Sherlock Holmes stepped into the room. "Oh, Sherlock! You scared me! Sorry, Rosie's crying has me all frazzled." Molly frowned when neither one of the men spared her a glance and she looked between them, her heart fluttering nervously as she took in Sherlock's expression and the way John was acting, holding his daughter close and murmuring against her little ear. A heavy feeling settled in her stomach as she looked past Sherlock, confused when her eyes found the shut door and not the person she expected to be there after the call she had received earlier to babysit Rosie. Molly turned back to face the other occupants of the room.

"Is Mary on her way? I thought she was with you?" Silence greeted her besides Rosie's soft cries. John didn't look up and it was then Molly heard what he had been whispering to his daughter.

"I know, darling, I know. I'm sorry, dearest, daddy's here, daddy's here." A lump formed in Molly's throat and her eyes darted between John and Sherlock, wondering why neither of them were answering her.

"Where's Mary?" Molly asked and turned to look at Sherlock when John moved away from them. It was then that Sherlock finally looked down at her and Molly's breath hitched at the pain in his eyes. She took a step towards him, a hand fluttering at her throat. "Sherlock?" The consulting detective seemed to deflate before her very eyes as he released a slow breath.

"Mary is…M-Mary is gone," he said quietly and Molly's head turned to look at John, her eyes wide.

"J-John?" He didn't reply but his face scrunched up and a tear slipped down his cheek as he pressed a trembling kiss to his daughter's head. Realisation slammed into Molly's chest like a sledgehammer, John's reaction reminding her of the families she would see when they were being told that their loved one had died. A choked cry escaped her.

"O-oh…Oh, God," Molly gasped. No one said anything, a deep silence filling the small living room as Rosie's cries fell to whimpers. _What happened?_ Molly wondered desperately, _how could this have happened?_ She didn't know much about what happened between Mary and John in those few months they were separated, only that something from Mary's past had shaken their trust in one another. But it had seemed to be settled, they seemed happy again, especially with little Rosie in their lives. _Oh, Rosie_ , Molly thought, her heart breaking anew, now understanding why the little one was so distraught.

When Sherlock moved beside her Molly looked up, her chest tightening at the expression on his face.

"John – "

" _No_."

Molly flinched at the pain, at the _anger_ , contained in that one word. It surprised her when Sherlock did the same, actually taking a step back as if John had attacked him, before, with a fortifying breath he moved towards John.

"John, I – "

"No! Not one word!" John's voice was filled with so much rage that Molly stepped backward in fear. He turned to face them, Rosie cradled against his shoulder, his expression murderous. "You have _nothing_ to say that I want to hear. I want you to leave and to _never_ show your face here again."

"John, _please_ – " Molly looked at Sherlock in shock, having never heard his voice break like that, before looking back at John when the man growled, the sound deep and animal.

"Get out, and _never_ return."

"John…I-I understand that this –"

"You understand _nothing_! You _promised_ to protect her, promised to save her and now…and _now_ …" he broke off, his chest heaving with suppressed emotion, his eyes bright as he glared at Sherlock. Rosie had started to cry again, hearing the anger in her father's voice, and Molly's heart broke that little bit more for her, for John. She could see how much this was tearing him apart and could hardly bear it. Hesitantly, she stepped forward, hoping to diffuse the already volatile situation.

"J-John – " He whirled on her, his eyes blazing.

"Shut up! Don't you _dare_ defend him, not after what he has done!" Molly flinched, her shoulders hunching at his words. She straightened with a steadying breath though when Rosie started crying in earnest, the baby's wellbeing first and foremost in her mind at this horrible time.

"John, p-please stop. You're scaring Rosie." John stared at her in confusion for a moment before looking down at the screaming baby in his arms, his hard expression crumpling and tears filling his red-rimmed eyes. Without a word to either of them John cradled Rosie against his chest, talking gently to the distraught baby, and walked away, the door to his bedroom clicking shut behind him.

Releasing a shaky breath Molly turned to Sherlock, finding him standing stock still, his blue-green eyes staring ahead of him. Slowly, gently, Molly reached out and grasped his hand in hers, smiling sadly at him when he blinked rapidly, his eyes wet, and looked down at her.

"Let's go, Sherlock, there's nothing more we can do here." He said nothing as Molly led him out of the Watson's home and up to the street where a black town car was waiting for them. Without a word Molly got into the car, pulling Sherlock in behind her. As the car pulled away from the curb Molly stared out the window, trying to sort out what had just happened in her head. Mary was dead; John was devastated and was now refusing to talk with Sherlock about what happened. She felt numb, only aware of the burning need to help the man beside her get through this.

Molly turned her head to glance at the consulting detective, the man's profile coming into stark relief as he stared out the window at the passing streetlights. He hadn't let go of her hand as she had expected him to once they were in the car and she brought it down to the fact the he needed an anchor at the moment, something to keep him steady while he processed what had happened.

She was brought out of her thoughts when her phone rang and, after pulling it out of her pocket and pressing the call button, she brought it up to her ear.

"Hello?"

 _"_ _Miss Hooper."_ Molly's eyes widened and they darted over to Sherlock before looking forward again. It had been a long time since Mycroft Holmes had called her personally. _"I understand that John Watson has arrived home."_

"Yes…I, uh…I'm with Sherlock now, on the way to Baker Street. Mycroft, what happened?" There was a heavy sigh.

 _"_ _I'm sure you know of the case of the six Thatcher busts that Sherlock was working on?"_ At Molly's quiet affirmation Mycroft continued. _"I'm afraid that the case was much more convoluted than we thought and it has, unfortunately, lead to the death of one Mary Watson."_ Molly swallowed heavily at the rise of emotion she felt, tears filling her eyes as she nodded. Hearing that Mary was dead wasn't getting any easier to hear. The line was silent for a long moment before Molly worked up the effort to speak.

"Will…w-will John be…" she trailed off, unable to imagine just how difficult it was for John in that moment, with his little daughter, all alone in that house.

 _"_ _Rest assured, Miss Hooper, that I have people watching John Watson, to ensure that he doesn't do anything…drastic."_ Molly nodded again, even though she knew Mycroft couldn't see her. She could only hope that John would turn his thoughts to looking after little Rosie, the poor girl needing him now more than ever now that her mother was gone. A tear slipped down her cheek and Molly sighed.

 _"_ _Miss Hooper,"_ Myrcoft's voice started once more, almost sounding hesitant. _"I would…appreciate it if you would…stay with Sherlock at this time."_ Molly's eyes narrowed and she glanced at the man in question. Sherlock was still staring out into the street, the streetlights deepening the shadows on his drawn features.

"Danger night?" Molly murmured, her eyes on Sherlock. Mycroft sighed.

 _"_ _Hmm."_

"Of course I'll stay with him," she said firmly and squeezed Sherlock's hand in hers. He didn't look at her but she felt his hand tighten around hers in response.

 _"_ _Thank you, Miss Hooper. Keep me posted."_ He hung up and Molly slowly dropped her phone to her side, noticing that the car was slowing to a stop. Sherlock didn't move for a long moment so, with another squeeze to his hand, Molly urged him to get out of the car. She didn't release his hand as they walked up the steps leading to his flat, Molly reaching into his coat pocket to withdraw his keys when he didn't move to do it himself.

As Molly led Sherlock upstairs she was grateful that it was late enough that Mrs. Hudson would be deep into her herbal soothers by now. She didn't know if she could tell the kind woman what had happened just yet. Entering Sherlock's flat she pulled him towards the couch. She turned him to face her, gently pulling his scarf off and helping him out of his coat. She folded both over the chair by the desk and walked back to him, placing his phone on the armrest beside him and urged him to sit down.

"Tea?" she asked, overly bright, and started towards the kitchen when he suddenly grabbed her wrist.

"Molly." She stopped and looked down at him and saw that his gaze was focused on his hand holding her wrist. Molly turned her hand in his, clasping his wrist and feeling the rapid beat of his pulse beneath her fingers. Concerned, she moved closer.

"Sherlock?"

Her breath hitched when he slowly pulled her closer until his forehead rested against her stomach, his hand tightening on her wrist. Molly was frozen in place, her free hand fluttering nervously over his head, until she noticed he was trembling. Molly sighed softly, her heart squeezing painfully with the realisation that Sherlock was allowing her to see him like this, to see him experiencing sorrow, grief, over Mary's death.

Very gently, Molly placed her hand on top of Sherlock's head, softly dragging her fingers through his dark curls. He didn't hold her in anyway other than the tight grasp on her wrist and it saddened Molly that even in his grief he had a tight control on his feelings, feelings she knew were growing stronger every day he was with his friends. Her thoughts went to John and she knew that Sherlock wasn't only grieving the loss of Mary but the possibility of John's friendship.

She didn't know how long they stayed in that position but, when a huge yawn overcame her, she knew that it was time for sleep. It had been an exhausting day; an overnight shift at Bart's, looking after little Rosie well into the afternoon, and then the news about Mary.

"Sherlock?" Molly called gently, her hand carding softly through his hair. He had stopped trembling a little while ago and had just rested his head against her, his grip not loosening on her wrist. He didn't reply so Molly stepped back a little before kneeling before him, moving her hand from his hair to his cheek, forcing him to look up at her.

"Sherlock? I think it's best to get some sleep, alright?" His red-rimmed, blue-green eyes flickered to her dark brown ones and Molly smiled sadly at him in understanding, tears filling her eyes as his face crumpled and he closed his eyes.

"Come on," she urged, finding Sherlock's other hand and pulling him to his feet. She steadied him when he swayed against her and carefully led him through the flat to his bedroom. She tried not to be distracted by being in his bedroom for the first time, knowing it wasn't the right time, _at all_ , and gently pushed Sherlock down onto his bed. He didn't fight her as he sat on the edge and Molly knelt before him to remove his shoes and socks.

"Molly."

"Hmm?" she replied, her focus on pulling his socks off, when she felt a hand in her hair. She looked up to find him watching her, a curiously intense look on his face, as if he had never seen her before.

"Stay." Her eyes widened at the request and she looked away, her heart racing. While she was going to stay anyway, on his couch to make sure he didn't need anything during the night, staying in his room was another thing all together. She stalled for time and finished removing his socks before standing.

"Sherlock, I'll be just down the hall in the living room -" his hand grasped her wrist and she paused. When she met his gaze her chest tightened with how vulnerable he looked in that moment.

"Molly," his low baritone was little more than a whisper and she shivered when his fingertips bushed against the soft skin on the inside of her wrist. "Stay, please." Molly bit her lip, worrying if this was the right thing to do.

" _Please_ ," Sherlock repeated and the look in his blue-green eyes had Molly nodding. While she took off her own shoes Sherlock moved to lie down in the bed. Molly got in beside him and pulled the covers over them both before lying on her side, facing him. He lay on his side facing her and reached out to grasp her hand that lay between them. Molly watched him quietly, taking in his striking features, before sliding closer and resting her forehead against his, smiling sadly when he released a soft sigh and closed his eyes. No matter the fall out after Mary's death, Molly promised to herself then and there that she would do all she could to keep the small group of people that she called family together.

 _ **Thanks for reading!**_


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